


Sin Collective

by TheGreatLibraryFangirl (Mazeem)



Series: Sin [1]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Edging, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kink, Mentor/Protégé, Multi, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pseudo-Incest, Shower Sex, Slut Shaming, Underage Sex, comfort kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-01-16 09:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21268898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/TheGreatLibraryFangirl
Summary: All the filthy stuff I post on tumblr, plus more as it comes to me.Broadly described: drunk sex and extreme power dynamics. Age gap fetishisation. Dario giving blowjobs. Mainly Santi/Dario.Read the tags! Do not expect good characterisation. It's porn.See the Contents Page inside for full details, tagging, etc.





	1. Contents Page

**Author's Note:**

> Re the non-con tag: Consent is generally given, but the characters are generally not in a suitable mental state that in RL we would consider it /meaningfully/ given (i.e. they're drunk or drugged, or in subspace, or in heat ... you get the picture ...). 
> 
> Re the underage sex tag: in chapters 2, 9 and 10, Dario is still a postulant, so 16-ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that, since this is only going to get bigger, rather than keep trying to extend the summary or keep drowning you in tags, I would make a contents page with the relevant tags and warnings. There will be more tags in this than there are in the actual tags section.
> 
> Choose what to read, or not to read!
> 
> Hope people find it helpful!

Chapter 1: Santi/Dario in my fanon High Garda kink dungeon.

Tags: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Mentor/Protégé (past), Age Difference, Kink, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Exhibitionism

Chapter 2: Captain Santi/Postulant Santiago.

Tags: **UNDERAGE**, **Dubious Consent**, Drunk Sex, Drunk Blowjob/Drunk Face-Fucking, Mentor/Protégé (current), Teacher/Student Relationship, Age Difference, Predatory Behaviour

Chapter 3: Santi/Dario, degradation. Pre-existing relationship. Starts off to make Nic feel better and ends up focusing on Dario, because I am trash. 

Tags: Drunk Sex, Slut-Shaming, Anal Fingering, Humiliation Kink, Dirty Talk, Oral Fixation, Begging, No Lube 

Chapter 4: Modern AU, life-drawing class. Santi/Jess/Dario. Just a snippet, really. 

Tags: Nude Modelling, Teacher/Student Relationship, Dom/sub, Safeword Use, Exhibitionism, Threesome - M/M/M, Handjob, Anal Fingering, Blindfold

Chapter 5: Khalila/Dario/Wolfe. Dubious consent with a comforting vibe. (Maybe. Or creepy. You take your pick.)

Tags: **Dubious Consent**, Altered Mental States, Drunk Sex, Mentor/Protégé (past), Age Difference, Drunken Kissing, Threesome - F/M/M

Chapter 6: Daddy kink/ageplay, Santi/Dario, a random snippet that never went anywhere. Could be canon setting? Could not be?

Tags: Age Difference, Ageplay, Daddy Kink, Oral Fixation

Chapter 7: Santi/Dario, more degradation. Pre-existing relationship, scene planned off-page

Tags: BDSM Scene, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Slut-Shaming, Oral Fixation, Dom/sub, Forced Masturbation,

Chapter 8: Wolfe/Dario, drunk blow-job. This is like, the least Sinful thing in here lol. Several years older Wolfe and Dario get tipsy together and decide on some entertainment. 

Tags: Drunk Blowjob, Mentor/Protégé (past), Age Difference

Chapter 9: Captain Santi/Postulant Santiago, Dario suffers through some weapons training and then gets taken to the barracks showers to cool down

Tags: **UNDERAGE**, Mentor/Protégé (current), Teacher/Student Relationship, Age Difference, Predatory Behaviour, Handjobs, Shower Sex, Power Dynamics

Chapter 10: Captain Santi/Postulant Santiago. Kind of a vague sequel to Chapter 9??

Tags: **UNDERAGE**, Mentor/Protégé (current), Teacher/Student Relationship, Age Difference, Blowjob, Light Dom/sub

Chapter 11: Khalila/Wolfe, more odd "altered state" comforting sex. Vaguely a companion to chapter 5.

Tags: **Dubious Consent**, Altered Mental States, Mentor/Protégé (past), Dirty Talk, Handjob

Chapter 12: Khalila/Dario, playing an edging game in High Garda kink dungeon. Same verse as chapter 1. 

Tags: Edging, Exhibitionism, Dom/sub, Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, BDSM Scene

Chapter 13: Saleh/Dario, having a little moment on Dario's wedding night

Tags: Pseudo-Incest (brother-in-law), Light Dom/sub, Blowjob, Orgasm Delay/Denial

Chapters 14+15: Santi/Wolfe, probably set before Wolfe gets imprisoned in Rome? Having a delightfully nasty little night. Dom Santi/sub Wolfe.

Tags: Humiliation, Anal Fingering, Bondage, BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slut-Shaming, Begging, Anal Sex


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a long time since Santi had stepped foot in the High Garda dungeon. Hell, the last time had probably been before Wolfe’s imprisonment, nearly eight years ago now. 

But he was still known in here - not just as their captain, but as Santi, and occasionally even as Nic - and he was greeted warmly as he walked down the stairs. Several people offered him drinks, but he smiled and waved them away. He’d already had a bottle or two at home and didn’t want to lose his head.

He saw several people not-so-subtly looking at his arm as well, and looking disappointed when they saw his observation-only armband. What they didn’t know was that he had a glove in his pocket. He could always change his mind and participate, if he saw something he liked.

The place was busy tonight. All the private rooms were occupied and there was an attention-grabbing flogging happening in the main public scene area. He smiled as he saw the person doing the flogging was Lieutenant Atwal. He had very fond memories of her strength. 

Still, he surveyed the whole area (ever a soldier), and saw someone in a dark corner, facing the wall. Always interesting, that sort of ‘public but not showing-off’ setting.

It got even more interesting as he got closer. The man’s muscular yet slender white form was tied to a pole. Several passers-by gave him a good grope on their way to the toilets. And yes, a black glove to symbolise open participation was tied to the pole too, in the small of his back. 

Santi’s cock was already showing its interest - half, Santi thought at the memories of when he himself had been left like that in here, tied up and vulnerable. But half was definitely interested in the prospect ahead, too. 

He tugged his leather glove out of his pocket and slid it on. Used it to stroke the man’s back and squeeze his arse. Felt the frisson at his touch. He reached his bare hand to reach around and play with his nipples, listening for the gasp. Yes, good. A good sensitive boy.

This could be very, very fun. He adjusted his cock so that an erection wouldn’t become painful too quickly, and walked around to the front, swapping his hands around as he moved. 

His stomach dropped as he met Dario’s eyes. But at the same time, it swooped and grew butterflies. 

Dario’s eyes were huge and black and although his body had tightened when he’d seen Santi, he hadn’t pulled away. 

Equally, Santi couldn’t quite convince himself to take his hands away. 

This was wrong. This was incredibly wrong. 

But Dario was staring at him with a silent intensity that made his head spin. 

“Shut your eyes,” he said. His voice was hoarse. 

“Yes, sir.” Oh God, that was worse. Did Dario know that was the correct form of address in here, or was he just calling Santi sir like he always would? 

“And stop talking.” 

Back to silence. Who would have thought Dario would be so good at being silent? 

Shut up, Nic. Don’t think about normal. Just think about … now. 

He carried on stroking Dario; noted that throat and nipples elicited quite the reaction. Noted the dried come on his chest and stomach. 

How long have you been here for? Keep your eyes shut,” he clarified, as Dario frowned. 

“A while. It’s hard to keep track without a clock.” His shrug stretched his strained arms, and he frowned and shifted positions. 

Without quite thinking about it, Santi put his gloved hand to Dario’s cheek. 

“All right?” 

Dario leant into the touch, so heavily that Santi had to brace himself, and sighed an affirmative. His tongue slid out to gently poke the leather, just once, and following the trail Santi pushed his thumb into Dario’s mouth. 

The feeling of Dario’s tongue pressing against it went straight to his cock. He let himself make a satisfied noise and leaned in to nuzzle his open mouth against Dario’s forehead. 

“Got an eager mouth, haven’t you?” he muttered. Dario made a noise in his throat and loosened his jaw as if to speak – so Santi shifted his grip and held it closed. “Ssh.” 

Dario swallowed so hard that Santi felt it in the hand he still had on Dario’s chest. His breathing was faster than it had been before. 

Santi moved his fingers through the dried come. 

“Is any of this yours?” He took his thumb out of Dario’s mouth, and got a thrill straight to his cock at the sight of Dario chasing it. 

“No.” Dario licked his lips. “Not mine.” 

Santi looked down at Dario’s erection. 

“Is that touchable?” He skimmed his free hand down to rest on Dario’s hip. Dario bucked his hips in an apparently completely involuntary move. His eyes flew open, but Santi noticed with approval that he still didn’t look up. 

“Yes.” His voice was suddenly low and raspy. “You can touch anywhere.” 

Emphasis on ‘you’. Emphasis on ‘anywhere’. 

“Shit,” Santi muttered as his cock throbbed, and shoved three gloved fingers straight into Dario’s mouth. “Keep that god-damned mouth shut, Santiago.” Felt the vibrations of Dario wordlessly agreeing. 

He curled his fingers and pushed further down. Dario swallowed around him easily. 

He pressed even tighter against Dario’s bound body, and slid his free hand down his back. When his fingers reached the crack, they slid into the soft, puffy warmth. Three, straight in. 

“Mother of God,” he muttered, and thrust his own hips hard against Dario’s front. “Been hard at work tonight, have you?” 

Dario nodded and made a noise around Santi’s fingers. His head was heavy again, leaning on Santi’s hand in his mouth. 

Santi suddenly felt … Well, he wasn’t sure he could call it protective. Certainly not fatherly, not with both hands occupied where they were. But … ah well, he’d always been a soft-touch dom, anyway. 

“I’m going to make you come,” he said into Dario’s temple. “And then I’m going to untie you. Is that ok?” Another nod. 

Santi pondered how to do it at first. He probed around a little in Dario’s arse, looking for the prostate, but that barely elicited a reaction. 

It might be numb, by now, he thought with a pulse of arousal. Overworked. 

He slid his fingers out and moved round to the front to grip his erection. Dario immediately bucked his hips and started breathing so heavily that Santi felt compelled to remove his fingers from Dario’s mouth for the safety of his airway. 

“Keep quiet,” he warned. Dario actually god-damned whimpered, was he trying to kill Santi here? 

It took only a few strokes before Dario let out a choked grunt and come splashed up to his chin. He went completely limp against Santi, who had to rapidly shift his grip to hold him upright against the pole. 

“Come on,” Santi grumbled, giving Dario’s neck a quick pinch to keep him awake. “Nearly done.” 

Undoing the ropes was tricky, but he got there in the end. Dario groaned deep in his chest as his arms came free, and oh, if Santi had thought that he was heavy and limp before, he’d been wrong.

“Stand up, Santiago,” he said in almost his command voice, which he tried not to use in this setting. It felt strange. Especially bearing in mind who he was using it on. And why. 

He stopped himself thinking again. Now wasn’t the time, Nic. 

Luckily the brusque order had worked, and they were able to slowly shuffle to a nearby four-person sofa. Dario sprawled on the sofa and stared at the ceiling with half-open, glazed eyes, apparently completely careless of the way this put his spent, flaccid penis on full display. 

Well, he was probably used to being on full display.

“How are your shoulders?” Santi asked, when the silence started to grate on him. 

Dario shifted his head from where it was lolled on the edge of the sofa back and mumbled, 

“Bit sore.” 

Santi suspected that in the state Dario was in, if they were even slightly painful he’d be in agony tomorrow. 

He reached out and squeezed one of Dario’s shoulders gently, checking to feel for knotted muscles or unusual heat.

Or at least that was what he’d intended to do but touching Dario was like a drug and soon all he was doing was just running his hands over Dario’s body again, like he had before. His chest was unnaturally smooth and soft, and Santi let his mind drift to imagining Dario painstakingly shaving every inch of it before coming here tonight.

His erection throbbed at the metal picture. He rubbed it and sighed.

Why waste energy on imagining when the real thing was right in front of you?

“All right?” he asked Dario, who had closed his eyes. Instantly they opened; his black gaze was a little sharper than before. 

Santi’s hands carried on wandering, down to Dario’s stomach and his hips, and onto his lean thighs. All of it hairless, oh lord above. 

Dario was just watching him wordlessly, looking tired but satisfied.

“Up for something else?” Santi asked him quietly. He cupped Dario’s limp cock, but froze when Dario winced.

“’M good. But you …” His gaze moved to Santi’s crotch and back again. “Whatever you want to do, sir.” His voice was raspy. 

Santi frowned. “Jesus, Dario, don’t give anyone free rein like that.” 

Dario shrugged. Brushed a lank, sweaty curl of hair out of his eye. He clumsily lowered that hand and rubbed Santi through his trousers. “Come on, sir. Put it in me. I can take it.” 

“I’m sure you can,” Santi said hoarsely, trying his best not to just come immediately at the feel of Dario touching him. “You’ve had lots of practise this evening.” 

“Mm.” Dario yawned and stretched like a lazy cat, and that was just indecent and shouldn’t be allowed and it was a very good thing that he’d taken his hand off the bulge in Santi’s trousers to do so. Santi grabbed Dario’s wrist and pinned it to the sofa to stop him reaching down again. Dario blinked and watched his hand with what appeared to be only mild curiosity. 

Now that Santi had reminded himself of Dario’s well-used state, he couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he’d been able to put three fingers inside Dario. “Ever been fisted?”

Dario looked at him, befuddled and soft around the edges and so unlike himself and Santi couldn’t quite resist. 

“Come here.” He put his hands on Dario’s hips and tugged. This Dario understood, and soon he was on Santi’s lap, draped bonelessly onto Santi’s chest and nibbling idly at his neck. 

“Good boy,” Santi whispered. He shifted Dario around a little until he found the perfect angle into his arse. Three fingers went into the soft, warm heat with no trouble again, and he eased a fourth in with very little resistance.

Dario made a soft little “uh,” sound that went straight to Santi’s cock. 

“You like that?” Santi murmured into his hair. He pushed all four fingers in down to the knuckles. Pumped them in and out a few times. Dario swore and clamped down around them. “Relax.” Santi put his free hand on the back of Dario’s neck and felt him shudder. “There’s more to come.”

“ _ Joder _ ,” Dario mumbled against Santi’s neck. He sounded delighted. 

Santi carefully shaped his hand and pushed in again. Dario caught his breath somewhere between the second finger joints and the knuckles. His back muscles tried to tense, which caught at his painful shoulder muscles, and just for a second he went rigid all over. 

“Relax,” Santi said again, prodding at the knotted muscles with his free hand until they smoothed out. “Breathe. Feel free to bite.”

Dario’s teeth dug bluntly into his neck as Santi carried on pushing. Santi couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Come on, Dario, boy. Bite me.”

This time the pain was sharp enough to make Santi flinch.

“Perfect,” he grunted.

“ _ Gracias _ .” Dario’s voice was slurred and soft. Not to mention the language switch. Santi wondered if he might be starting to float. To fly, to drop. There were a lot of names for it. 

“You’re being so good,” he murmured, as he gently wiggled his knuckles back and forth. Dario’s breath was hot and wet on his neck, fast and unsteady. As Santi successfully slid in, Dario let out a moan. “Good boy,” Santi said, almost absentmindedly, his attention caught between his erection and the feeling of his hand inside Dario. “Couldn’t get away even if you wanted to, now.”

Then he heard himself and winced. That was … maybe a fraction too vicious? 

No, Dario was whimpering and digging his teeth into Santi’s neck and all in all, acting like he was quite happy. 

He shifted his hand around inside Dario for several minutes, coaxing delicious little moans from him. Dario’s breathing had slowed, if not steadied, and he was heavy and limp in Santi’s lap. The friction against Santi’s cock was almost too much. Time to do something about it. 

“I’m going to take my hand out, and then I’m going to fuck you,” he announced to the top of Dario’s head. 

“ _ Si _ ,” Dario said, slowly, after several seconds. He sounded drunk. 

Santi inched his hand out, slowly and carefully. He wanted there to still be something to grip him when he went in, after all. Dario made high-pitched noises in his throat at the widest point of the extraction, and started shivering once it was out. 

Santi ran a hand soothingly up and down Dario’s smoothly muscled back. “Easy. You’re doing so well.” He waited until the shivering lessened, at which point he grabbed Dario by the hips and swung him to lie on the sofa. 

Dario blinked up at him dazedly. His eyes were all pupil and only half open. 

Santi undid his trousers. Even the brush of his own hand made his hips thrust into midair.

“Don’t worry,” he told Dario as he bent his legs back. “I won’t be long.”

He shoved into Dario with no warning, and let his white-hot arousal drive his hips. 

Their groans mingled. Dario was weakly trying to clamp around him. He thrust desperately until his orgasm hit, then slumped onto the sofa next to Dario and tried to catch his breath.

Well.

“All right?” he said eventually to Dario, patting his ankle where it rested on his lap. No response. He was definitely still breathing, at least. “Dario?”

“He’s fine, captain.”

Santi nearly jumped out of his skin and his stomach tried to crawl out of his feet. Where in the fuck had Khalila come from?

“I’m impressed,” she carried on mildly as she tucked a blanket around Dario, who sighed and turned his head fractionally towards her. “He doesn’t usually let go this much outside the house.”

She was wearing a dark dress and matching headscarf. In the dim lighting of this part of the club, it could have been anything from grey to green. Good for blending in against dark walls.

“Were you hiding?” he blurted. 

She laughed. A little awkward, a little embarrassed. “I’m usually more visible, yes. I withdrew when I saw you.” 

He didn’t have time to absorb quite what that meant before her gaze sharpened and she asked, “Did you think I would leave him alone? Tied to a pole and vulnerable?”

“I … I didn’t think-”

“No, you certainly didn’t think.” Her voice was quiet but her eyes were aflame. 

Santi tried to muddle through several different visceral reactions simultaneously, all of them defensive. Here in this place she wasn’t only Dario’s wife, she was clearly in charge of him, and she wielded that just as well as any other weapon in her arsenal. 

As soon as it had appeared, the blaze disappeared, and the demure, friendly Scholar reappeared. She passed him a glass of water.

“Here. I got it for Dario, but I don’t trust him to drink without making a mess until he’s more responsive.” She passed a fond hand over Dario’s cheek and murmured something to him in Arabic. 

Santi drank the water, for lack of anything more obvious to do. 

“Sorry,” he said, eventually. She gave him a quick, surprised look. 

“Don’t worry. You gave Dario the time of his life, and I must say I enjoyed the show.” She gave him a full, sunny smile, then returned her gaze to Dario, who was starting to nuzzle her hand. Santi stayed for a moment or two longer, watching the line of Dario’s body under the blanket, until he caught the little side look that Khalila gave him. 

Ah.

Dismissed.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is underage (if you assume that Dario is probably 16 ish in I&B) and Dario is definitely, definitely too drunk to be consenting at all.

Santi hadn’t meant to do it. It had just happened. Everything had just … fallen into place. 

He’d been walking home after a nice relaxing evening in the Hive, the High Garda bar, when he’d heard a commotion coming from one of the smaller more disreputable bars that clustered outside the High Garda compound. 

The common nickname for these places was The Flytraps, because they often caught unsuspecting new soldiers, or soldiers who’d had too much, and left them in a world of much worse quality product and much less well-monitored environs. 

So out of a sense of duty, he had a peek through the relevant door. The second he saw a postulant’s robe, his stomach dropped. Something this mind-blowingly idiotic was either going to be Jess or Dario, and his money was on the Spanish boy. 

Yup, he was right. Dario was backed against a wall, shouting at a group of three people who had herded him there like prey. 

Santi recognised one of them as out of uniform Garda, and shouted out his name. 

“Ten seconds to pretend nothing ever happened, boys,” he said, into the sudden silence. There were a few mumbles and swearwords, but all three men cleared out. 

Dario was clearly very, very drunk, and looked dishevelled. He was too young and too pretty to be out here, looking like that.

Santi held out his hand, and the boy’s eyes tracked it as if he could see more than one. 

“Come on, Santiago. Let’s get you home.” 

Dario laughed, bitter and wild. “I’m not going home. I’m here now. You’re not getting rid of me that easily!” 

He eyed Santi with renewed suspicion. 

Santi sighed. “Back to Ptolemy House. That was all I meant. Ptolemy House. You’re going to have quite the sore head in the morning.” 

Surprisingly, Dario let him take his hand and pull him along. “I won’t have a sore head. I’ll be fine,” he grumbled as he staggered along behind Santi. “I’ve done this before, you know.” 

Santi stopped. Dario didn’t, and Santi had to grab him to stop him falling. “It’s stupid and dangerous and you shouldn’t be doing it,” Santi said sternly, right into Dario’s face, even though he knew it was a pointless statement with the boy this drunk. 

Dario rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He couldn’t quite raise his head fully to look Santi in the eye, and instead he was watching Santi’s lips … with some intensity. 

Santi felt the first stirrings of arousal at the thought, and tried to dismiss it. “There are all sorts of dangers out there for an unsuspecting postulant,” he lectured extra sharply, to cover the way that he had started looking at Dario’s lips, too. 

The boy had beautiful full lips. 

“Danger is everywhere,” Dario said, slurring. Sounded like he was aping Chris. Suddenly he tilted forwards and rested his face in the crook of Santi’s neck. “Got the best protector, though. I win.” 

Santi froze. 

Dario nibbled at Santi’s neck. “You smell good,” he mumbled. Hardly daring to breathe, Santi stroked one hand down Dario’s back and pushed Dario just a little closer. 

“Do I?” he asked. 

Dario was on his way to being hard. So was Santi, now. How could he not be? 

“Mm.” Dario was licking and nibbling at his neck like it was some kind of delectable food. “So good.” 

Santi slipped his hand down the back of Dario’s trousers and was taken aback by the needy whine that resulted. 

“Do you like that?” he asked into Dario’s ear, groping Dario’s arse over his underwear. Dario nodded. His mouth was open and damp against Santi’s skin. Santi had just enough self-control left to sidle them into an alley, where they would be less visible. 

He slid his hand inside Dario’s underwear and grabbed a handful of his arse. It was a good arse, soft and yet firm. He wondered if there would be finger bruises on it tomorrow. He hoped so. 

“You shouldn’t be outside like this, you know. Wandering around all drunk and needy.” He squeezed Dario’s arse some more, and used it as leverage to grind their cocks together.

“Mm. Needy. Need _you_.” Dario went for a clumsy kiss. Hit Santi’s cheek instead, sloppy and wet. 

Santi gave in; pushed him against the wall and kissed him hungrily. Dario fell back against the wall, boneless, and put up no resistance at all. Not even when Santi bit his tongue, quite hard, just to check.

“I could do anything to you, couldn’t I?” Santi hissed into those huge, hazy eyes. “I could strip you and fuck you right here, couldn’t I?” 

Dario bucked his hips against Santi’s, causing them both to groan. 

“Please.” 

Santi shoved him to his knees, then fumbled with his flies. Dario rested his head heavily against Santi’s thigh. “Please,” he said again. 

Santi got his cock out, and shifted Dario’s head with his free hand until he could just … slide in. He groaned at the soft warmth. 

“Be good, now, Santiago, if you know how to be.” He laced his fingers tightly into Dario’s hair. “Don’t talk. Don’t bite.” 

He thrust mindlessly, holding Dario’s head where he wanted it. It didn’t take long until he was grunting in his chest and spilling his come. 

Spilling was the word, he thought after allowing himself a few moments of post-orgasm fuzz. In the dim light of the alley, he could see that his come had overflowed Dario’s mouth, trickling down his cheeks and under his collar. 

“Good boy,” he said to the drunken, gasping boy curled at his feet. His own come splattered his shirt. “Let’s clean you up.” He bent down and brushed at Dario’s mouth with his thumb. 

Dario’s lips closed on it and started to suck, which if Santi was twenty years younger would have probably got him hard again on the spot. “Oh, you fucking filthy little thing,” he breathed. “Lick it up then, go on.” He pushed his spunk into Dario’s mouth and watched that bright pink tongue chasing it. 

* * *

When Dario woke, he didn’t know where he was for a long, dizzy moment. Fragments started to come back to him, but they had to be a dream. That hadn’t actually happened. Fucking great dream. 

He got out of bed and was halfway to the toilet before he fully registered that he wasn’t in his and Jess’ room, and that was a wall, not a door he was heading towards. 

Where was the toilet? Where was he? 

He stumbled around the dark building for what felt like forever, before finding a toilet. 

He went into the stall and sat down. His head was spinning badly, but he didn’t feel sick. It was ok. He was ok. 

He stood up and stumbled out of the bathroom. Leaned against the wall and tried to figure out which way was back to bed. 

Time to sleep this off as best he could. Surely it was only a few hours before daybreak. 

“Are you all right?” He jumped a mile. Captain Santi was standing next to him, wearing only a soft pair of sleep trousers. 

“Uh …” He couldn’t wake up his brain enough to do more than stare at that handsome sight. More fragments were coming back to him. Had that … had that actually happened? 

He realised that he was only wearing his underwear. 

“Come on, Santiago, let’s get you back to bed,” Santi said. His voice was a lovely low rumble, and the arm he slid around Dario felt like the most stable thing in the world. 

“Did we …” Dario’s words matched the confusion in his brain. “Sir, captain, I …” He found he was leaning against Santi’s chest. That meant he had a line of sight straight down Santi’s body, to where his erection was tenting his trousers. 

The world still felt unreal, that was Dario’s only excuse for why he was brave enough to clumsily swipe his hand down Santi’s stomach and over the front of his trousers. 

“I remember. I was,” he swallowed, hard, “I was on my knees.” 

“You were.” The captain’s voice reverberated through his chest. “You were very good.” 

“Was I?” Dario had never been so annoyed to have blacked-out his memory. He ran his hand over Santi’s erection again, squeezing it gently through the thin fabric. 

“Bed, Santiago,” Santi said, firmly, and the arm around his shoulders jostled him. 

“Ok, ok.” 

Santi pushed him gently through the doorway. He staggered to the bed and sat down, hard. Everything was spinning again. Too fast. 

He locked his elbows to keep himself upright and groaned. 

“Dizzy?” He nodded, and instantly wished he hadn’t. For an awful moment there was no up nor down, only terrible around and around. 

Then Santi’s hands were on him, laying him down on his side. “Better?” Dario waited until the world slowed before he agreed. Kept his eyes open, even though he was sleepy. He knew that trick. 

He rolled over. Santi was sat next to him, one leg stretched out and one drawn up. His erection was … it was right there. It was within reach. Dario put his hand on it. It felt warm through the thin trouser material. He still couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. 

His own cock was hard and aching between his legs but it felt like it was a long way away. 

“Do you like that?” The captain’s voice seemed to be coming from the sky, from everywhere around him. 

Dario nodded. “Yeah.” 

“What do you want me to do with it, hmm?”

"I dunno." Even to himself, Dario's voice sounded slurred. Keep it together, damn it. If this wasn't a dream it was certainly a once in a lifetime opportunity. He couldn't afford to blow it by passing out or throwing up. 

He kept touching Santi’s crotch. Made a pathetic, one handed attempt to pull those trousers down, but any attempt to particularly change his position left him reeling. "Sir. I want to see."

"Do you?" In what seemed like an instant, Santi had got off the bed and stripped off. His erection bobbed in front of Dario's eyes, a lot closer now. 

Dario reached out for it again, wrapping his hand around it and weakly stroking. 

"That's a good try," Santi said. Dario was vaguely insulted by this, but then Santi pushed three fingers into his mouth and he had more important things to focus on. 

Santi’s other hand closed tightly over Dario's hand and started to move it around on Santi's cock. 

‘I think you'd be just as good as before, with your mouth,’ Santi said to him in a low, throaty voice, ‘but I don't want you to throw up on me. This is good, isn't it? You like this, don't you?’

His three fingers were filling up Dario's mouth, pressed as far down as his gag reflex would allow, pushing up and down, in and out. 

Sometimes they'd move and stroke the side of his cheek, or the roof of his mouth. It was the only thing Dario could focus on. His eyes were blurry so he could barely see their joined hands flying over Santi’s red, wet shaft. He could hear that though. And he could hear himself, gasping for air, making little incoherent moans. He was drooling in streams down his chin and neck. 

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. You're doing so well on my fingers. You'll get my cock some other time, I promise you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning here for degrading language and a really incredibly "do not try this at home" way to start an intense scene. 
> 
> This is split (hopefully you'll see the line for where) because my brain started it as Santi comfort and finished it as Dario comfort ... idk, I don't make the rules, I just do what the goblin-brain says.

Santi was stressed out of his mind, and drunk out of his mind too, and Dario was out of comforting options other than encouraging some of that balled-up rage and frustrated need to do something in a way that wouldn't end in a punch-up.

So he went to where Santi stood, leaning heavily on the liquor cabinet, took a deep breath, then bent and kissed Santi's hand. 

"What do you want?" Santi demanded. He was slurring. Maybe this wouldn't work. But he let Dario pull two of his fingers into his mouth and suck on them for a moment. 

"What do I always want, sir?" Dario asked, fluttering his eyelashes. It was never very difficult to play this role. 

Santi sighed.  "Fucking slut." The words came out heavily, and not with arousal, but it was a start. He shifted just enough so that Dario could have slotted in-between Santi's legs and the counter.

"No-o," Dario whined. He pressed up against Santi and nuzzled his neck. Felt the rock-hard tension in every area other than the one he was hoping for. "C'mon. Sit down. It's more fun like that."

He was being very transparent, and as he stared hopefully into Santi's eyes he saw them soften for just a second. Then Santi grabbed his hair and yanked him towards the sofa, grumbling drunkenly in Italian. 

Dario curled onto his lap and bent his head down for a kiss. Santi relaxed, just minutely, and after a few moments broke the kiss. 

“You’re a whore, did you know that? Do you never not fucking want sex?” Their faces were so close together that even after speaking Santi still shared two thin lines of saliva with Dario. He shoved his hand clumsily into Dario’s underwear and grabbed his arse hard enough to bruise. 

Dario just kissed him again, hard enough to push his head back against the sofa. Felt Santi's hand mindlessly scrabbling at his arse. 

“I’m a slut for you,” he agreed, and shifted his position so that he could touch Santi’s crotch. Rub it. Try to get him hard.

Santi’s eyes were glazed and tired but for the first time that evening, not haunted and strained. “You want me to put that in you, don’t you? Like you’d even feel it. Like you’d even notice a cock in you, you’ve had so many." He laughed roughly. “Get your fucking clothes off, kid."

Dario stood and did as he was told, and watched with genuine hunger as well as satisfaction as Santi got his cock out and wrapped his hand around himself. 

it didn’t take any more acting to drop to his knees. "Please, Nic. Santi. Sir. Your cock tastes so good. Can I? Please?”

He nosed at Santi’s hand, kissed the knuckles, kissed every exposed inch of cock he could reach. “Please, sir. I need you so much.” He looked at Santi up through his eyelashes, and felt his first genuine stirring of arousal at the dark, focused look he was getting in return.

"I’d forgotten that was your thing. Keeping that filthy mouth busy.“ He yanked Dario’s head to the side and shoved three fingers in his mouth. "There. That’ll keep you busy." He pulled at himself with his other hand, right next to Dario’s cheek. 

Dario whined, high and pleading, even as he set to work suckling on Santi’s fingers. 

"Please, sir,” he said as soon as Santi withdrew his fingers, “Please, sir, please. I’m begging.” He kissed the crook of Santi’s thigh. 

Santi grabbed his hair and yanked. Out of long practise, Dario rose with it, alleviating the force of the yank which otherwise would have ripped out a fair bit of hair. 

“Of course you're begging. What else can you do? Come up here, you needy cunt." 

Dario sat back on Santi’s lap. Santi tugged at himself rough but slow as his free hand roamed all over Dario’s body apart from his cock.

"God, you’re so pretty," Santi grumbled, as Dario kissed his neck. "You take advantage of that, don’t you? You sloppy easy brat.” His fingers shoved between Dario’s cheeks and probed hard at his entrance. Dario breathed out and relaxed for a second. He was well-practised and indeed a little soft in that area, but Santi was being very rough. “How many cocks have you had up here, you disgusting boy?”

"Only you." Dario bit Santi’s neck just right - he knew because Santi shivered. "Only you, I’m only yours, sir, all of me is yours." He let out a ragged, real gasp as Santi added a fourth finger, still dry, still pushing hard. “Oh, yes. Please. Stretch me out, sir. Get me ready for your cock.” He kissed Santi, all hot and wet and sloppy just like he liked it. “I need you inside me so much.”

His groan was genuine too as Santi fisted his only half-hard cock hard enough to hurt.

"Not enjoying yourself?" He saw Santi pull out of role, just for a moment. 

"I don’t need it, sir. Please." He buried his face in Santi’s neck then whispered in his ear. “Green, I promise." 

"Yeah?" Santi’s hand was now soft on his cock, up and down. "You going to be my cock hole tonight? Is that all you’re good for?”

* * *

“Whatever you want me for, sir.” Dario gave Santi a little sideways look. 

Santi saw it, and snorted. “I didn’t ask you that, you disrespectful little shit. I asked if you’re so fucking useless that you’re only any good as a pretty sheath.” 

Dario shook his head and swallowed and focused on the comforting metronome of Nic’s hand on his cock. ‘Useless’ settled like a fishhook in his guts, sharp and terrible in just the right way. 

“No?” Nic’s voice was softer, cautious. 

Dario pulled himself back together. “I’d be the best sheath for you, sir. All hot and tight and I wouldn’t get tired.” He kissed Santi, hard and desperate, only to be pulled away by his hair and stared at piercingly. 

“That’s a lot of bragging. Maybe I should just come on your face and leave it there to dry. Make you look like what you are, so everyone else knows.” 

“No, sir. Please, sir.” His voice caught in his throat, snagged on a sob yanked up by the fishhook word. “Please.”

“Shut up and wait.” Santi pushed Dario’s head against his shoulder, so that Dario couldn't watch Santi's erection growing under his hand. 

Tears squeezed hot and stinging out of Dario’s eyes as Santi manoeuvred him. The dry stretching burn made him sob. 

“There we go. Is that what you wanted?” Nic’s hand squeezed the back of his neck. 

Dario nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He breathed out on a shaky, sobbing sigh. “I don’t deserve it.” 

Another hook there, and he let himself cry out with the pain of it. 

“No, you don’t. Crying to get what you want like a silly little boy.” Santi’s hips started rolling and his hand stroked Dario’s back and hair soothingly. “But you’ve got it anyway, because I’m a bloody soft touch, so you make it worthwhile, now.”

“Yes, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little bit from an AU idea where Dario is a life-drawing model and Santi is the teacher. D/s, as usual. 
> 
> Santi/Dario/Jess.

Santi pressed Dario against the wall and stepped back.

“Stay there so we can look at you.”

“No, Nic,” Dario protested. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and there was a red blush spreading down his chest. He cupped his hands over his cock.

“Hands on the wall.”

“No-o, please.” It was a long, drawn-out whine, but Dario moved his hands obediently.

“Don’t worry, Jess.” Santi gave Jess a little smile. “He knows how to actually get me to stop.”

Jess nodded uncertainly. He could certainly see how turned on Dario was – even his nipples were red and erect. “So he’s enjoying himself, then?”

“Of course he’s enjoying himself.” Santi crossed his arms. “He’s been on display for four hours. Now he’s  _ properly  _ on display.” He rocked back on his heels, then into the same confident, ground eating pace he’d been doing during the class. “He’d love it if  _ everyone _ came back to look at him like this. To stare. To draw. Maybe to just refresh him if he flagged.” Santi swiped a casual hand over Dario’s stomach as he passed by, and Dario whimpered. His cock was dripping precum. 

“And then once they were finished admiring,” Santi said, low and gravelly, “maybe they’d pass him round the whole class, one by one, for everybody to enjoy as they pleased.”

Dario rolled his hips and whimpered again. “Please, Nic.”

“Please what?” Santi leaned over him, hands carefully either side of his head, and kissed his neck. 

“Please touch me. Please.  _ Please _ .”

“Touch you? Like what? Like this?” Before Jess had quite processed how it was done, Santi had spun Dario away from the wall, with his back pressed to Santi’s chest and Santi’s arms wrapped firmly around his torso. “Let’s go on a walk.”

“No!” Dario’s eyes flew open, but he still kept his face turned away from Jess. “Don’t! Where are we going?”

Santi kicked the back of his knee to make him move. “He can stop me any time he wants,” he reminded Jess. “We’re going to see your friend,” he said to Dario.

“Fucking no we’re not!” Dario started to struggle, and it looked genuine enough to Jess, but Santi merely tightened his grip and started to walk again. “I can’t, Nic, I can’t.” Dario was breathing hard and his hands were visibly trembling. “Amber!” he shouted, after three steps. 

Jess blinked at the non-sequitur, but saw Santi’s grip immediately relax. He turned them both around, so that Dario wasn’t looking at Jess, but his voice was deep enough and they were stood close enough that Jess could still hear it fairly clearly. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Jess could catch only fragments of Dario’s murmured, halting reply. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. You’re beautiful. He’s hard as a rock because of you – If you’d just look, you could see that.”

Jess thought he should probably reply to that, but he wasn’t sure how to. 

“Do you want a blindfold on? Would that help?”

“Oh fuck,” Dario said, high-pitched and clearly audible. “Oh God. Yes, Nic. Blindfold me and send me out. Oh, fuck.”

Santi took off his shirt and tied it carefully around Dario’s head. “Is that better now?” Santi turned them back around. He was stroking Dario’s stomach, slow and soothing. 

It was an awful blindfold, Jess thought. It would let through all the light, and from that angle Dario could tilt his head upward to see out of the gaps next to his nose.

Dario nodded. He’d gone quiet as soon as the blindfold was applied. 

“You’re being so good.” Santi kissed his shoulder. “Let’s walk.”

Jess watched them approach. An idea struck him. He undid his flies and pulled himself out, giving himself a couple of enjoyable strokes. 

“I know you don’t want to look,” he said, and watched Dario flinch at the sound of his voice, “but Santi’s right. Can I show you?” He reached out and gently took hold of Dario’s wrist. 

Dario nodded jerkily. Jess could see him blinking behind the blindfold.

Jess wrapped Dario’s hand around his cock, and let himself groan out loud at the sensation. Dario immediately started stroking him, with a good firm grip. 

Santi settled against Dario’s back, and used Dario’s hair to gently pull his head to one side and nibble his neck. He’d indirectly pushed Dario up against Jess and pushed Jess back against the wall. Jess could feel Dario’s nipples pressed against his shirt, though Dario was obviously trying to keep their lower halves from touching.

“There was nothing to be scared of, was there?” Santi said. “Nothing at all.”

Dario shook his head. The blindfold wobbled. 

Jess lost patience with it. “Can I tweak the blindfold?” He looked at Santi, who shrugged. 

“Can he?” He ran one hand up Dario’s side. Dario nodded, and, disappointingly, slowed his ministration to Jess’ cock. 

“I’m going to take it right off and start again,” Jess warned Dario. 

“Ok,” Dario whispered. His voice gave Jess goosepimples.

Jess fixed the blindfold so that it was more secure and had fewer gaps, then tilted Dario’s head forward to tie it tight at the back. Afterwards Dario didn’t raise his head from where it was pressed against Jess’s shoulder and collarbone, and Jess found that he didn’t really want him to. 

“That’s better,” he mumbled, unsure whether he was talking about the blindfold or the fact that Dario had gone straight back into touching him, hard and fast. He groaned out loud, but so did Dario, and his grip slackened, just for a second. 

Jess tried to focus. Noticed that Dario had spread his legs and tilted his pelvis. Yup, Santi was fingering Dario. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he muttered. Dario laughed against his shoulder, a puff of damp warm air, and made an agreeing sound. 

“He likes this.” Jess swore he could feel Santi’s voice vibrating straight through Dario into him. It was hot as fuck. “I could do this to you all day, couldn’t I, pretty boy?”

“Mm.” 

Jess didn’t know where Dario’s other hand had been before, but now it rested on Jess’ hip, with pressure pushed through it as, presumably, Dario braced himself against Santi’s fingers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Wolfe's out of it for various loosely specified reasons and not really in any position to be giving meaningful consent here. Oh well.
> 
> These aren't in any sort of order, btw. I wrote this one last week.

The world spins whether Wolfe has his eyes open or closed so he goes for open. It soothes the lingering edge of paranoia. 

He flinches at a touch to his crotch, and looks down to see Dari knelt there, giving him an appealing under the eyelashes look. He swipes a clumsy hand through the boy’s curly hair. It’s messy. He can’t remember why. 

“No. I wouldn’t. It doesn’t always work.” The words come out slurred (w’nt, d’nt, al’work) and he frowns at himself. 

“That’s all right, Scholar.” Khalila settles next to him. He can feel her petite breasts against his arm. He’s never been that into women, but he certainly admires Khalila in a multitude of different ways. Archivist. Scholar. Daughter. Woman. Their shining diamond. He wishes he could look over at her, see her steady dark gaze, but he’s pretty certain that if he moves his gaze from the rotating ceiling, he’s going to be sick and he’s so fucking tired of being sick.

A surprised noise falls from his lips as she starts stroking his hair; smooth strokes along his scalp and down his neck. “That’s all right, Scholar,” she says again, her voice low and calm. “Dario will happily hold you in his mouth regardless of your state. Would you like him to do so?”

Wolfe steels himself and looks down at Dario. He’s not sick when he moves, which is excellent, but the stupid boy flashes him a grin so dazzling that he has to shut his eyes. He can’t handle intensity, right now. Not this fragile. Not this drunk. 

“No? That’s fine. Up you come, darling.”

No. He flings out a trembling hand and somehow catches the curve of Dario’s cheek perfectly. Holds him there. 

“Scholar Wolfe? Is that a yes?”

He forces his eyes open and rolls his head to the side, to meet her gaze. It is exactly the calm, easy gaze he hopes for. 

“Yes,” he whispers. 

It’s been so long that he’s had a mouth on him that isn’t Nic; all he can process at first is the dizzying twisting inputs of same/different. He hears himself groan out loud, and normally that’s a sound from himself he can’t bear but this,  _ this _ is in none of the Rome memories, no. 

“Just hold him, darling.”

He must be moving, a little, in reaction to Dario’s still, soft heat, because the blankets slips from around his shoulders and he claws for it, shivering with a chill that doesn’t exist. Khalila tweaks the blankets back in place and squeezes his hands until the tension leaves them. 

“We’ll take care of everything, Scholar,” she says. Her breath brushes his face. She smells like mint and some sort of spice. It’s nice. He shifts towards her and their lips touch. 

He moves away at first, his dull dizzy mind flaring into wakefulness with alarm that his mouth probably tastes of vomit, or of not having brushed his teeth for … for a while? 

He opens his eyes to apologise, sees her eyes an inch from his, watchful, waiting for him.

There had been tea. Soothing chamomile tea. He relaxes just remembering it. 

Relaxes further at the slow, soft, warm lave of Dario’s tongue around his shaft. He knows he’s not even slightly hard. Dario doesn’t seem to mind. 

Maybe the chamomile will help. Maybe Khalila won’t mind. 

So he leans back in, just a fraction of an inch, as the world spins. Lets her lips move his, lets the little tiny weight of her mouth rest upon him. Lets her tug the warm blanket more tightly around him, and rub his scalp with her nails. Lets his world shrink to Khalila and Dario’s tender touches. 

These are not sensations he should enjoy. Even as fractured as he is, he knows that. But it has been so long since he has enjoyed feeling anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: does this need any?? Daddy kink/ageplay stuff going on. Possibility that someone else might overhear sex.

It was three am. Jess had passed out in the spare bed an hour ago, but Dario was still awake, wandering around the place looked debauched and delicious and entirely too tempting. 

Dario leaned on the kitchen counter and sighed heavily. Santi walked up behind him and put a hand on the small of his back. 

“Are you ok, Dario?” He rubbed his back in tiny circles. 

“Yeah.” Dario’s voice was soft and slow. “Pissed off at myself. If I was better at fighting, Jess wouldn’t have broken his finger.”

“He’d have done it if you’d been the best fighter in the world, you know Jess. Thinks he can save everyone.” He tugged Dario’s shirt from his trousers. 

“Undressing me, sir?” His tone was trying for seductive but just hitting tired. 

Santi rubbed the same place, but on Dario’s bare skin. “I could. Would you like that?” He pressed in close, trapping Dario against the counter, and kissed his ear. “Let me relax you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Dario tipped his head back, inviting Santi to kiss his neck. 

“We could do that too,” Santi said, kissing the offered place. He gently ran his finger over Dario’s chest and stomach. “Give you a lovely, slow fuck, until you stop worrying about other things.” Ran his hand down and squeezed Dario’s crotch. “How does that sound?”

“But, Jess…” 

“Jess won’t hear. He’s dead to the world. It’ll just be you and me.” He felt Dario growing hard in his hand. “Come on. You know you’ll love it.”

Dario wriggled around and pressed his mouth against Santi’s. Santi kissed him back, slow and soft, and pushed both his hands down into Dario’s underwear to grope his arse.

“What position do you want me to fuck you in, baby boy?” he whispered. Dario’s face flushed hot and red and he looked over to the door of the spare bedroom. Santi squeezed his arse. “It’s ok. Jess won’t wake up. He won’t hear anything. He doesn’t know you’re my good little boy, does he?”

Dario shook his head. “No, Daddy,” he whispered, and shivered once, convulsively. 

“That’s my pretty, obedient little boy.” He reached for Dario’s jeans and undid the buttons. They slid halfway down his thighs. “Daddy’s going to undress you now. Aer you going to be a good boy and help?”

Dario nodded, and kicked his legs until his jeans fell to the floor. Santi rewarded him by rubbing him through his tight underwear. There was already a wet patch. 

“Look at you,” he said. “So happy to see your Daddy.” Dario nodded. He’d pressed his face into Santi’s chest. “Let’s get the shirt off.” He undid a few buttons. “Arms up, sweetie.”

Now Dario was clad only in his damp underwear, gazing up at him with a trusting, needy look that went straight to Santi’s cock. 

“That’s it.” Santi pressed him back against the kitchen counter and ground their crotches together, gripping the back of Dario’s neck tightly. “Don’t worry about anything. Just be good for me.” He scraped his teeth against Dario’s neck, and Dario let out a loud whimper then froze and looked at the door to where Jess was sleeping again. Santi chuckled. “Do I need to gag you, baby boy? Can you not keep yourself quiet?”

Dario looked up at him, his eyes huge and begging, and parted his lips slowly. Santi leaned in and kissed him hungrily. 

“Go on,” he said. “Keep yourself quiet.” Dario sank to his knees, scrabbling to unearth Santi’s cock. “Good boy,” Santi said breathlessly, as his half-hard cock was engulfed by Dario’s hot, talented mouth. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: degradation, consent pre-negotiated off-page.

He hauled Dario closer in the private booth, and hooked one of Dario’s legs up over his knee, so that he could easily ran his hand up and down Dario’s inner thigh. 

Dario whined and pushed his hips up. 

“Shut up, Santiago. I’ve got work to do.”

He opened a Blank and blindly scrolled through a report Alamasi had sent him yesterday. He’d already read it, but that wasn’t the point. The point was making Dario wait. 

“Please, sir. Please.” Dario’s voice was strained. Santi gave him a cursory sideways look. 

“Use your own hand, if you’re so impatient.” With a look of relief, Dario reached for his fly. “Stop that, you fucking slut. You’re in public. Keep yourself covered up.”

Uncertainly, Dario started to touch himself through his trousers. Santi went back to his reading, and listened to Dario’s breathing speed up.

“Listen to you,” he said, keeping his eyes on the Blank. “So desperate to come that you’ll dry-hump your own hand. Bet it feels awful. Hot and rough and cramped, and if you could just touch yourself _properly,_ everything would be smooth and easy.”

Dario let out a sobbing breath.

“But you did this to yourself. You couldn’t wait until we were somewhere more appropriate. Somewhere quieter. Here you are, in the middle of a public bar, rutting like a misbehaving dog. You’ve got no fucking shame, Dario, that’s your problem. You’re a disgrace.”

“Sorry, sir.” 

It didn’t take long for Dario to come in his underwear. He sagged back and shut his eyes, panting frantically. There was a damp patch visible on the crotch of his trousers, and given that they were thick wool, that was impressive.

“You’ve made such a fucking mess.” Santi undid Dario’s flies and pushed his hand inside. “Holy fucking hell. You should feel yourself. You’re soaked. All hot and wet and slippery in here.” He worked his hand up and down Dario’s softening cock, then took it out. “Clean yourself up.” Dario licked at his dampened hand, sucked his fingers. Santi did it again. “That’s it, you disgusting, desperate little slut. God, if you could suck your own cock, you’d never leave your bedroom, would you?”

Dario’s pupils were blown and his voice almost sleep-drugged as he answered, “No, sir. Can I suck your cock, please, sir?”

“Why the hell would I let you do that, you whiny little shit? Good boys get to suck cock. Filthy little sluts with no self-control or self-respect don’t deserve that prize.” He shoved his fingers into Dario’s underwear again, then pushed them into Dario’s mouth. “That’s your substitute.”

Then he undid his trousers with his other hand and started to jerk his erection, fast and hard. 

Dario made a delicious picture to watch. Tears trickled down his cheeks and drool leaked down his chin from the four fingers Santi was mercilessly driving into his mouth and throat. He was curled, boneless, on the booth seat, watching Santi’s cock like he’d die if he lost sight of it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: does this need any?? It's so tame?? Drunk sex, it's not 100% certain whether either character conceptualises what they're doing as cheating on their partners or not, there's a bit of a "you used to be my teacher/student but we're older" vibe. 
> 
> Wolfe/Dario.

"You look like Nic," Wolfe blurted, as he finished his latest glass of wine. Fuck, he was very, very drunk. 

Dario made a soft acknowledging sound. He was sprawled across the divan. He hadn't yet refilled his snifter glass from the three-quarters empty whiskey bottle that sat on the floor next to him, and he was idly rolling the empty glass over his palm. 

"No, you do. Like a young Nic." Wolfe reached out clumsily and patted Dario's head. His hair was soft and springy. 

"You're just saying that because you wish I was him right now," Dario mumbled. He raised his glass in the air, where it swayed alarmingly. "Cheers to abandoned alcoholics with very important spouses."

Wolfe clinked his glass against Dario's, then supported Dario's wrist when he seemed likely to let the impact knock the glass away. 

"I'm not an alcoholic and Nic's not my spouse," he corrected. 

"Shut up, you pedantic fuck."

"I have been a pedantic fuck my entire life, Dario, and I'm not stopping for you." He went back to petting Dario's hair. 

"That's nice." Dario shifted a little closer. 

Wolfe nodded in agreement. "Nic's is too short for this. I wish his was this length." 

Dario chuckled. "Mm, see? Again? You just wish I was Nic right now, lying here."

"And maybe I do. I'm sure you wish I were Khalila, too."

Dario yawned. "Maybe." He wriggled around until his head was on Wolfe's lap, his cheek pressed against Wolfe's leg. "There. That's better." 

"Hm. I've seen Khalila do ... do this." Wolfe gently tugged on Dario's curls. Dario hummed.

"Yes. That. That's a thing."

"A thing," Wolfe said in a mocking tone. "Just as well you're too drunk to get aroused, then."

"Who said that? I never said that." Dario looked up at him from his lap, flushed and hazy-eyed and yes, very like young Nic, very like, that Mediterrean skin colour and dark eyes.

Wolfe felt the soft, lazy curl of arousal that he'd been passively enjoying start to concentrate itself. 

"This is where we should stop, probably," he heard himself say, even as he sank his hand deeply into those wonderful thick curls and pulled. Dario's lips slowly parted in time with the pressure. 

"Don't you fucking dare," he slurred. "'S good."

Wolfe chuckled. "Nic's pretty easy, too. Always ready to go when I am. When I'm not, too." He smiled into thin air at memories of Nic getting himself off; innocently in the shower, sneaking one out when he thought Wolfe was asleep, brazenly touching himself in full uniform, and making Wolfe watch. "Do you want it more than Khalila?"

Dario smacked his lips as he thought. He had beautiful lips, Wolfe thought, not for the first time. Quite pink and plush. 

"Complicated question," Dario said at last, stretching and shifting his head on Wolfe's lap. "Define 'it'."

"Excuse you, I'm the one who should set you assignments."

Dario laughed. The warm air brushed against Wolfe's growing bulge; Dario's face was very close to it. "Once upon a time, maybe. C'mon, Scholar. A twelve thousand word article on the definition of, of it. Libido. Sexual activity. Whatever. I'll peer review it for you."

"Peer review. Is that what we're calling this, now?" He pulled Dario's hair harder than he had before. Dario let out a gorgeous little groan. When Wolfe released his grip, Dario lolled his head forwards and nestled it into Wolfe's crotch. Automatically Wolfe pushed his hips forwards and put his hand on the back of Dario's head. Then he remembered exactly who was between his legs. "Sorry." He let go. 

"Oh my god." Dario said, muffled. He rolled so that his cheek was pressing against Wolfe, not his lips. "No sorry. Bad word. Jesus, don't stop here."

Wolfe brushed a thumb over Dario's cheek. That was a difference between him and Nic. Dario's facial hair wasn't as ... as much, as Nic's. It was softer and less widely distributed. Would he miss the stubble burn, or would it be a nice change?

"Yes?" he asked, putting his hand on his belt. 

"Yes."

Wolfe drew a breath in. His chest was a little tight, all of a sudden. "I need more wine," he announced. 

Without moving his head, Dario reached down and grabbed the wine bottle off the floor. 

"You're an uncultivated child. I don't drink from the bottle."

"Dri-ink." Dario waved the bottle precariously, so Wolfe took hold of it just to stop it from falling. 

After that, well, yes, he was drunk enough to put the cool glass circle to his lips and swig the wine like a boor. 

He caught Dario's eye and slid his lips down the bottle neck, just a little. Dario laughed. 

"I can do better than that." He reached up for the bottle, but Wolfe jerked it away.

"Mine."

Dario's hand had landed on Wolfe's chest, and stayed there. It was warm.

"What would they think, our other halves?" Wolfe mused, as he slowly undid his belt. (Partly for effect, and partly because his fingertips were turning numb with intoxication.)

Watched Dario's eyes follow every movement, watched Dario's tongue swipe over his pretty pink lips. 

"Well," he answered himself, "bearing in mind that last time we got drunk together Glain had to stop us from fighting, I think they'd probably be quite proud."

"Mm. You pinned me to the floor."

"Because you'd smashed a glass and were threatening to stab me with it. Very un-Scholarly behaviour." Wolfe used Dario's hair to pull him far enough back to fully undo his trouser flies. Got a nice view of the white contours of Dario's throat. "Different context, now. Bet you'd like me to pin you against the floor now, hm?"

Dario flashed him a heated look and nuzzled agitatedly at the bulge in Wolfe's underwear. 

"Patience, Dario."

"No." Quick as a flash, Dario yanked back Wolfe's underwear and sucked Wolfe's cock into his mouth. 

Wolfe let his head fall back, let his hips thrust forwards again. Groaned in satisfaction.

He linked his hands loosely together in Dario's hair and watched the ceiling spin slowly as he luxuriated. 

"You're good at this," he mumbled. Dario pushed his head even further down, as if in thanks.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dario is a postulant here, so we have not only underage sex but a very, very clear unbalanced teacher/student power dynamic.

Weapons training was finally over. Captain Santi hadn’t made any allowances for the difference in Dario’s skill level to Glain’s. 

Why he was even here, Dario wasn’t sure. Everyone else who wasn’t on confiscations with Wolfe had gone to their specialist training. 

There was a dark, bitter thought in the back of his mind that perhaps Wolfe didn’t think he was worthy of a Scholar position after all, and had slipped him down the totem pole to High Garda. 

They had practised stripping, cleaning and reassembling their weapons, firing them, (while running, ducking, walking backwards, with one eye shut), and then just general fitness training. 

Dario was bathed in sweat from head to foot, which was quite frankly disgusting, and he was breathing like he’d just tried to race Jess. His legs felt like jelly and his head felt like it was only partly attached to his neck. 

He was, however, also incredibly turned on, and had spent most of the last twenty minutes trying to duck into a corner and adjust himself to hide it. 

Every time, though, the captain had seen him and barked at him to fall back in. 

The captain just looked so good in that uniform. His hands looked so rough and competent on his weapon and he was so strong and fast and muscular and … 

Dario licked his lips and stopped his train of thought. This really wasn’t going to help his arousal problem. 

“Well done, postulants.” Santi nodded at them both. He looked at Dario, a long, slow look up and down that made every nerve in Dario’s body lit up like a bonfire. 

What was that? Was it … 

“Postulant Santiago, you can use the barracks showers if you’d like to … freshen up.” 

Embarrassment flushed Dario’s entire face and neck, making him feel even hotter and wobblier. He heard Glain snigger, very quietly, and so he flicked his hair in the hope that some of the flying beads of sweat would hit her. 

“No thank you, captain. I’ll shower back at the house. It’s fine.” The thought of the barracks showers had very quickly morphed into the thought of Santi in there, and, oh fuck, Dario needed a very, very cold shower. 

Santi nodded. “Very well. Dismissed, then.” 

Glain performed a sharp turn and left. No doubt some perfect military manoeuvre that if Dario had any spare brain space left, he’d mock her for while Santi was still around to make sure he didn’t get punched. 

However, his legs really were quite wobbly and he just needed a second or two more, just to collect himself. 

“You all right, Santiago? You look like you’re feeling a bit faint.” 

Santi was standing far too close. There was no way he hadn’t seen Dario’s erection. 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, captain. Santi. I mean, no. I’m fine.” 

But he wasn’t. His field of vision was starting to shrink, and the ground felt soft under his feet. He reached out blindly, trying to find something to balance on. 

Unfortunately, what he found was Santi. 

“Sorry,” he said helplessly, as he leaned into the captain. 

Before he quite knew what was happening, Santi had settled him into a hard wooden chair and was rubbing the top of his shoulders. 

“You’re all right, Santiago. Take a moment to gather yourself. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

His entire body felt like it was made of water and he couldn’t find the strength to reply. It was taking all his effort to stay upright in the chair. 

Gradually the sense came back to him. It felt like it might have taken more than a minute or so. Santi was still stroking his shoulders, which felt so good that he couldn’t help but give a little groan. 

Instantly he wanted to turn himself inside out with shame, and flung himself to his feet. 

Big mistake. Wasn’t that recovered yet. 

With an annoyed grunt, Santi slammed him back into the chair hard enough to hurt his back. 

“For heaven’s sake, Santiago. Stay  _ put _ .” He probably said something else, but Dario wasn’t paying attention. 

Santi had put his hand on Dario’s thigh. Quite high up. 

Dario’s gaze was drawn downwards out of sheer horror. 

“Is this what’s bothering you?” Santi met Dario’s gaze then looked at his erection. “I’ve been doing this for twenty years, postulant. I’ve seen a lot of boys pop wood at a good bit of exercise with a girl like Glain.” He met Dario’s eyes again. “Or even an old man like me.” 

“You’re not old,” Dario blurted. 

Santi’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. He paused for a second, then spoke. 

“Come to the barracks showers, Dario. You need a cool shower, you’re still badly overheated. And as to what else you do, in the shower, well.” He shrugged. “That’s up to you.” 

Dario had to be dreaming right now. He had to be. 

But he wasn’t passing up the chance, either, and so Dario let Santi pull him to his feet and guide his still unsteady steps with a hand low on his back. 

He undressed clumsily. His head was starting to pound and the world still felt slightly unreal. 

By the time he’d climbed out of his trousers without falling on his face, Santi was already in the shower with his back turned. 

Dario allowed himself ten seconds to stare with an open mouth at the bronzed, muscular back and slightly paler arse. There wasn’t a swell of flab anywhere. 

He chose his shower head to enable maximum staring, but turned his back so that he could pretend he wasn’t doing so. He set the water to run soft and cool, like rain, and then started to soap himself up. 

The water was blissful and initially the chill did its job, but every smooth, slippery stroke of his hands anywhere on his body seemed to go straight to his cock. It was the best kind of torture. He desperately hoped that the noise of Santi’s own running water was drowning out the way his breathing was catching. 

“Doing all right over there? Not feeling dizzy or anything?” 

“Just a bit of a headache …” Dario trailed off. He’d turned to answer Santi without thinking, and the captain was stood facing him. Stark naked. Cock reared up from thick black hair, head a little red and swollen already – and that was when Dario noticed Santi wasn’t cut, that he had his hand on his cock, pulling the skin back. 

He drank in the sight in one disbelieving, mind-bending glance, then realised that he was exposed too right now and spun back around so fast that he nearly slipped. 

“Careful.” Santi’s voice echoed in the stall. Then, in a different tone; “I didn’t think you’d be shy, Santiago.” 

“I’m not shy,” Dario said to the wall in front of him. “I just …”  _ I just can’t believe this is happening and I don’t want to fuck it up _ . “You want me to turn around, then?”

“Fair’s fair.” 

Dario turned. His heart was racing again, and it almost felt like fear. He knew that he was good-looking, but Santi was like a god. How disappointed would he find Dario’s untoned body, with its drastic tan lines and scraggy immature body hair? He’d already have seen the disgusting spots on Dario’s back that he just couldn’t get rid of. 

Santi’s footsteps patted against the tiles. Coming closer. “You  _ are  _ shy.” 

Dario realised that he was pressed right up against the shower wall, hands covering his cock, looking down at his feet. 

“Sorry,” he said, which was a stupid thing to say. “I … I’m just feeling a bit insecure.” 

Santi put one hand against the wall near Dario’s head and leaned in. Dario could smell him, faintly, underneath the soap. 

“You, feeling insecure about your appearance? That’s not the Santiago I’ve seen so far.” He chuckled, warm and deep. 

_ Everyone sees the Dario I want them to see _ , Dario thought at him with a sudden flash of irritation. 

He chewed his lip. His head hurt. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do anything at all. 

“Dario. Look at me.” So he did. Santi’s eyes were friendly and relaxed, but there was hunger in his face too. Dario stared until he really believed it; that Santi wanted him. Despite their differences. Maybe even because of them. How … Greek. 

His hands fell away from his cock, and he swallowed anxiously. 

“There, now. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Santi smiled again, the skin around his eyes crinkling right up. He put his free hand on Dario’s shoulder. 

Dario twitched at the contact, and his heart and cock leapt in unison. 

Santi had obviously misunderstood the twitch for a flinch, as he removed his hand and looked intently at Dario again. “Sorry. That was sudden. Can I touch you?” 

Dario nodded. Found his tongue, with difficulty. “Please.” 

Now it was Santi’s turn to lick his lips, as he slowly smoothed his palm down Dario’s body. Across his collarbone. Down his chest and stomach. 

“You’ve got nothing to be insecure about. Nothing at all.” 

His hand stopped just above Dario’s cock, and Dario thanked God or whatever demon was watching over him right now, because his cock was jerking uncontrollably and pouring pre-cum and his balls were tight and if there was so much as a fingertip brush he was going to spill everywhere. 

“Give me a minute, sir.” His voice was ragged. “Please.” 

Santi moved his hand all the way back up Dario’s chest, and rubbed each soapy finger in turn into the divot of Dario’s collarbone. 

“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘please’,” he said. Dario couldn’t make out the tone of voice, but it was soft and low. “I didn’t expect Postulant Santiago to have such good manners.”

Dario couldn’t quite catch his breath. “Thank you, sir.” He looked down at Santi’s erect cock and his head swam with arousal. “Can I?” He reached out a hand nervously. It hovered in mid-air. Santi’s hand closed over it, and he shivered at the touch. 

“Of course,” Santi said, and put Dario’s hand on his cock. Dario swallowed, and began to stroke it. “That’s good. A little harder. Just like that.” 

Then he went silent, apart from appreciative groans. Dario concentrated hard on getting this right, but Santi kept stroking his shoulders and stomach. 

“You’re very distracting, sir,” he complained eventually. 

Santi laughed. He was a little breathless. His cockhead was fat and dark, poking aggressively out of his foreskin and spurting precome with every stroke of Dario’s hand. “I can’t help myself, Santiago. You’re so fucking pretty.” He curled both hands round Dario’s sides and pulled him forwards. “Come here.” 

Dario settled his head against Santi’s thick pelt of chest hair. Santi pressed a hand to his head and held him there. 

“Faster.” 

Dario sped his hand up, but was distracted again by Santi sliding his free hand down his back and grabbing his arse. Not only was that distracting in itself, but it pushed his erection against Santi’s thigh, and that made him stop and gasp with how good it felt. 

“Come on,” Santi growled, and started to buck his hips. 

Dario’s hand and wrist were starting to ache, but he tried to go even faster, squeezing Santi’s cockhead hard with every pass. He seemed to like it harder than Dario would himself. 

“Fuck. That’s good, kid, that’s good, just, fuck, just like that.” 

Santi came with a loud grunt. Spunk splashed hot over Dario’s arm and stomach. He wanted to move out of the spray, to keep the evidence there for longer, but Santi hadn’t relaxed his grip as he panted through the aftershocks, so he was still pinned against Santi’s chest, so turned on he could barely think. 

“Was that ok?” he asked at last, nuzzling his cheek against Santi’s chest.

“Do you want a reward?” Santi sounded amused. 

“I … no, sorry, I didn’t mean …” Dario spluttered and tried desperately not to rut against Santi’s muscular thigh. 

“Ssh.” One of Santi’s hands cupped his cheek, and his other hand groped Dario’s arse again. “You deserve a reward.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: same as the previous chapter because this is vaguely a sequel? ish? Underage sexual activity, teacher/student.

“Postulant Santiago, with me a moment.” 

Dario followed Santi into a different room. His mind was already racing with everything from terror (that he was about to hurt, or to be sent home,) to a fevered desire to touch any part of Santi again. 

Santi closed the door and Dario's heart raced. Santis expression was inscrutable. 

“Get on your knees.” 

Dario dropped like a stone, probably bruising his knees on the hard floor. Like that mattered. What mattered was the fat, wet cockhead suddenly bobbing in front of him. 

“We've got 2 minutes. Maybe 3. Can you do anything in that time or do I have to just fuck your mouth?” 

Dario stared at the erection in front of him, trying to embed the sight in his memory forever. He knew that he was sober, he hadn't had more than a sociable amount of wine nearly ten hours ago, but he felt dizzy and foggy. He was glad he was on his knees, his legs might not have supported him. 

“Well?” He racked his brain for Santi’s words. Shame warred with pragmatism. 

“Just fuck me, sir.” 

“Oh, one day,” Santi muttered, as if to himself, but Dario heard and the situation in his trousers went from noticeable to unbearable. 

Still, he ignored that for a few moments so that he could luxuriate in the feeling of Santi’s hot, hard length sliding past his lips, stretching them wide enough to hurt, and over his tongue, until it caught the back of his throat and he gagged. 

“There? Right. Put your hand here to mark it. I don't want to choke you.”

Dario cupped his fist around Santi’s shaft at the relevant area. He was already breathing fast and nothing had even happened yet. Jesus. He rubbed himself through his trousers and groaned. 

“Yes, quite. Let's get started.”

Despite Dario's very best efforts, the next few minutes were a blur. His head rolling back and forth against the hard brick wall with every thrust, the feeling of thick precum gathering right at the back of his mouth, the weight and heat on his tongue. Straining to breathe, straining to bring himself some relief with his free hand, shoved awkwardly down the waistband of his trousers and underwear. 

Santi came with a loud grunt, and his cock was resting just inside Dario's lips as he did, so come flooded everywhere. It was thick and bitter in Dario's mouth. He tried to swallow some but he was gasping for air so hard that it was difficult to coordinate, so instead he found himself leaning forwards against Santi’s leather clad thigh, letting come and saliva drool from his mouth in thick strings. 

Santi’s hand was heavy and warm on his hair. “Well done, Santiago. Take a moment.” 

_ I haven't even come yet _ , Dario thought, his head spinning. It didn't seem to matter quite as much anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this kind of belongs to the same ... brain-space as chapter 5? Wolfe's more with it here, though the consent's a bit muddy. 
> 
> Khalila/Wolfe.

Wolfe fought for many things, as he sat immobile in a hard wooden chair in the Archivist's office. For air in his lungs. For his desperate shivering to cease. For his chest to stop aching like there was a weight on it. For his head to stop pounding.

“Christopher,” Khalila whispered in his ear, gentle and reassuring. “It’s all right. I’ve drawn the shutters. Come here.”

Her warm hand slid around his stomach. Her fingers untucked his shirt from his waistband. He stirred himself.

“Not here,” he mumbled.

“It’s completely safe. It’s completely secure. No-one will come in. Let me touch you, Chris, I know you need it.”

He groaned out loud at the touch of her hand against his bare stomach, and slumped back against the chair to give her better access. 

“There we go. That’s better.” She rubbed his stomach and up to his chest, and stroked his hair with her other hand. Steady rhythm. 

The worst of his trembling eased after a little while, so he sat forwards again. Black spots danced in front of his eyes with the movement. 

“I’m all right. I’ll go home.” _You were right_, he added sourly, in the privacy of his own head, _I shouldn’t have tried to get out of bed today_. 

She kissed his cheek. “Why don’t I message Dario?” 

He scowled. “I’m fine. I don’t need more pandering.”

“Oh, Chris.” She kept her hand moving. It was so warm. “You might not need it, but you want it. Dario can touch you and pet you and provide all sorts of warm comfort in the safety of our suite.” 

Surprisingly, he almost felt aroused by that phrasing. Not quite, but close, a fizzing, anticipatory warmth. He let out a ragged breath and nodded. Grieved the hand that left his hair to scribble a note. 

“There are so many options,” she continued, once that was done. “You could cuddle him in bed, have lovely body contact everywhere under all the blankets you like. Or you could take a warm bath together. Or sit curled up on the sofa. You can touch him anywhere you’d like. He’ll touch you anywhere you would like, as well.” Her voice had dropped, low and coy and confidential. 

Her hands were moving a little more firmly over his scalp, across his chest and stomach. His shirt hung open. He hadn't noticed that happening.

The gradual ramp-up made him a little breathless. A little fidgety. A little warm. He leaned his head back and obligingly she started to kiss his neck, working her way up between her lurid sentences. 

“Would you like Dario to lie underneath you, Christopher, or on top of you?” Her hand sauntered slowly down and squeezed his crotch. “Would you like to feel powerful, or protected? Everything exactly as you wanted it. His mouth, his hands, his body. All exactly where you want it.” 

He breathed out harshly, and reached clumsily for her shoulder, her side. Anywhere. 

“Would you like me to touch you here, Christopher?” She squeezed him again through his trousers. He nodded.

His reaction when her hand wrapped around him was so loud that he shot a nervous look at the office door. 

“Ssh, it’s all right. No-one will come in. You deserve to feel good, in any way you want.” She kissed up his neck, onto his chin, and he turned his head to savour her soft lips against his. 

There was warmth and tension building in his gut. Each languorous twist and slide of her hand sent his blood pounding, pooling in his groin, making him fill her grip more firmly. 

He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected even her honeyed words to work on his mostly dormant erection. He felt almost panicked by the possibility that this might happen here of all places, in the Archivist’s office. Would he be able to tell her to stop in time? Would he lose track of himself with the burst of it? Slide into dizzy panic again?

She’d stopped. Stopped? 

“Breathe, Chris. Breathe. In and out for me.” Her hand left the danger zone and rested on his stomach. “There. Make my hand move. That’s it.”

Only then did he realise that his aroused breathing had swung into stronger, more urgent gasps. He fought with himself for a minute or two. He was safe. He was ... protected, here, in the most secure room in Alexandria, being tended to by the most powerful woman in the world.

“I’m sorry,” she said, returning to the safe zone of his head and neck. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

No, she was the one who sounded genuinely upset.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. His voice was a little hoarse. “Just. Not here. That’s all.” He touched her cheek and waited for her to smile again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really 'sin' as such, it's just smutty kink, but I don't really have anywhere else to put it. AU where Khalila wasn't made Archivist.

Khalila had no idea where someone had found a chalkboard and several pieces of chalk in this environment, but she was very grateful to them. 

“And that would get you 50 points,” she said, writing the final guidelines on the board and turning to her High Garda audience. “Does anyone have any questions?”

A hulking blonde sub raised her hand. “Are you playing, Scholar Seif?”

Khalila smiled. “I think that might be unfair.” She ran her tongue along her teeth. “I’ll arbitrate.”

She stepped away from the chalkboard, and towards Dario. Her beautiful husband was cuffed and chained by all four limbs and, just for the look of it, by his collar as well. 

“Ready, darling?” She ran a soft hand over the stretched line of his arm, and checked his glove. They’d put tiny metal circles in the glove fingertips, so that if he tapped on the metal pole he was holding it would be clearly audible. 

“I love watching you lecture,” he said, instead of a proper response. She laughed.

“Oh no, please don’t start eroticising that too. It’ll be so hard to concentrate next time I see you in the audience.”

“Is my gorgeous face not enough of a distraction already?” He grinned and tossed his head. His curls bounced on his forehead. She wanted to brush them away. She wanted to kiss him and slide her hand down his perfectly smooth torso until he whimpered. 

But no. She couldn’t even touch him any more than she had already. It would bias the game.

It was like he could read her mind; he lowered his eyelids and lifted his chin and she turned away from that seductive look physically aching with arousal. 

“Everybody ready?” she said with a sharp tone to her voice that hopefully only Dario recognised as desperation. A murmur of agreement followed, led by Dario’s clear,

“Yes, my lady.”

She loved him so much. 

“Very well. Players, your prize awaits. Who wants to go first?”

* * *

“Tap check,” she called. Private Vochin drew back respectfully. Dario didn’t respond. His eyes were squeezed shut and it was a toss-up whether his panting was louder than the rattling of his chains as he shivered. He was swaying back and forth, upright only by locking his knees and using the tension of the chains.

She cast a quick look at his penis as she went to his side. No emission.

“Hello, darling,” she said softly. “I asked for a tap check. Can you hear me?”

He nodded jerkily. Unclenching his fingers from the pole took several seconds; she could see they were white and indented with the pressure of his grip. The cuffs at his wrists and ankles were of soft leather, but she could see his wrists were close to blistering with the amount he’d been leaning against them.

He tapped once to pause; she’d thought he would.

“You’re doing so well.”

His breathing calmed a little, but he was still shivering uncontrollably. That meant he was right on the edge; she’d known him shiver himself into an orgasm before as his desperate brain scrambled for any sensation it could find.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

“The next touch will send you over,” she mused.

“Yours.” He opened his eyes, squinting as if even the dim lighting was too bright. “Please, _querida_.”

They hadn’t specifically planned this, but it seemed appropriate.

She stepped away from him.

“Did someone put 50 points on the board for Private Vochin?” she asked. “Yes? Thank you.” She walked to the board and quickly worked out the winner, circling their name twice. “Right. I’m going to finish him off now. You’re all welcome to watch.”

Two people sat down, but no-one left; every face turned expectantly towards Dario’s slumped form.

She picked up the footstool that levelled their disparate heights a little, and placed it behind him.

She’d need to send her dress to the specialist launderette after this, she thought, as she pressed herself against his back. He was slick with others’ semen from his tailbone to the back of his knees. That was so difficult to wash out.

“Come on,” she whispered into his ear. “Everyone’s watching you.”

From somewhere, he found the strength to straighten and take his weight on his feet again.

“My darling little show off.” She kissed his cheek then drew her hand down his chest. He was so coated in perspiration that she had to make an effort to take her time, rather than just slide straight down. She stopped, just for a second, at one of his bruised, abused nipples. Traced a particularly prominent bite mark there.

He groaned as if her touch was agony. Perhaps it was, by now. “_Please_.”

“Ssh.” She nibbled his neck, where his pulse raced and throbbed. “I’m getting there.”

The words now tangling in his gasps for air were unlikely to be complimentary, she felt.

He was shaking so violently that she had no idea how he was keeping his knees locked. When she put her hand on his hip, she could feel the rapid, over-stressed involuntary ticking of his thigh muscle.

When she closed her hand around his erection, he cried out and fell forwards against the chains. Unable to see his groin from his new leaning angle, she pulled a questioning face at their audience. Unanimous headshakes.

“Get to your feet.” She put some steel in her voice, for the audience, and curled her free hand soothingly over the nape of his neck, where they couldn’t see.

“Come on, Dario!” One of the young privates shouted their support, and several more joined in. “You can do it!” Leo, one of Dario’s regular play partners, started a round of foot-stamping.

Her heart welled up with pride for Dario’s performance, to win such acknowledgement.

Faintly, she heard Dario chuckle. He found his feet again. Tried to say something, but it came out sounding completely incoherent.

“You can do it,” she repeated into his ear, and put her hand directly on his glans and _twisted_.

He came with a cry that started like a scream and ended like a sob, and an impressive amount of semen (that he’d saved up for three days just for this purpose) flew straight into their audience’s faces.

Khalila spared one amused look for the chaos that caused, with several eager soldiers already cleaning up anything they could get their tongues to, but Dario had gone completely limp and he needed to be her priority. She’d tell him about that later, though. He’d like that.

With the help of Leo and two dungeon monitors, she undid Dario’s restraints and arranged his head in her lap on the floor.

He looked asleep.

“Are you with me, angel?” She scratched his scalp. Was that an intentional movement of his eye underneath his closed eyelid? It was difficult to tell. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

She’d tell him again, when he woke.


	14. Chapter 14

As they started milling again after food, Saleh caught Dario’s eye and unmistakably gestured him over.

Dario thought he might have had too much wine for this. Possibly. Maybe. He made his way over anyway, and tried his very best to keep his eyes on Saleh’s face.

No need; Saleh gave him a long, deliberate once-over that sent all his skin tingling, then said, “Come with me.”

Dario swallowed a sudden influx of saliva. He followed Saleh out of the busy main room and into a much smaller room.

Then Saleh backed him into a wall and held him there with his hands on his shoulders. Dario’s knees wobbled.

“Did you think you were being subtle, little brother?”

No, no, he probably hadn’t been subtle about eyeing up Saleh Seif, every time they’d met, for months. He was tall and strong and exuded danger in that way that Dario found so helplessly arousing. He also resembled Khalila quite strongly, which was … interesting.

“People say subtlety’s not my strong point,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway.” He swallowed. “I’m not your little brother yet.”

“Oh, such a difference a few hours will make,” Saleh said mockingly. His dark eyes seared over Dario’s face. “Nearly a married man. Your wedding night approaches.”

Dario gasped as Saleh unceremoniously grabbed his crotch. Fright made him even harder than he was already.

“I should inspect the goods in advance,” Saleh said, keeping a straight face as his hand started to fondle and rub Dario through his trousers. “Make sure my beloved sister is getting high-quality equipment.”

“Only the best for Khalila,” Dario said, almost without thinking.

Saleh smirked. “She deserves the best, I agree with that. Are you claiming something exceptional about yourself, Dario?”

Dario shrugged. His face flushed hot. “You’re the one inspecting. Do I meet your criteria?”

It was a struggle to keep his hands still as Saleh freed his erection. Not that he knew what he wanted to do with his hands. He certainly didn’t feel like he had permission to touch Saleh’s dark, inscrutable form.

Saleh’s hands were rough and hot on Dario’s exposed erection. And fucking wonderful. Dario’s legs were like water, and it was only Saleh’s steady, piercing gaze that kept him standing.

Saleh shrugged. “It’s functioning fine so far.” He raised one hand, and suddenly his fingers hovered just in front of Dario’s lips, shimmering with precum. “Questionable stamina, though.”

Sweet motherfucking Jesus. Dario’s lips parted and he couldn’t have closed them if he’d tried. Saliva rushed almost painfully into his mouth.

“You … I …” He breathed. “I don’t want you getting any stains on your clothes, as a … a result of your kind inspection.”

“Hmm?” Saleh could have been carved from granite all of a sudden, one torturous hand frozen on Dario’s cock and the other still not – quite – touching Dario’s lips. But his eyes were dancing. “But you’re so messy, little brother. How are you going to prevent such issues?”

Dario wanted Saleh to just shove his fingers down Dario’s throat, but no, they were still bantering. Fine. Fine. He could do this. He could earn this.

Then Saleh started pumping his cock again, and his mind tried to throw out those higher functions as unnecessary distractions.

“Please,” he said, instead of anything clever and witty. “Please, Saleh. Brother. Please.” He dared to poke out his tongue and touch it against Saleh’s fingertips, tasting the bitterness of himself and the juicy lamb they had just finished eating.

“Ah, so that’s your solution?” Saleh slipped just his fingertips into Dario’s mouth, hooking them over his lower teeth and tugging Dario’s mouth wider open in the process. “Not to gain any self-control? Just to clean up your mess after it’s happened?”

“Sorry,” Dario mumbled, garbled. Saleh nodded and swapped hands, bringing up fresh wet fingers for Dario to lick.

This happened back and forth for a while, as Dario’s entire groin tightened. His mouth ached with anticipation for pressure and fullness that wasn’t forthcoming.

“Ah, well. Maybe this lack of self-control makes you a good husband for my sister. She does like knowing that people are enjoying themselves.”

Every single filthy incestuous fantasy Dario had ever entertained about these two particular Seifs slammed him between the eyes at Saleh’s words, and he groaned out loud.

“Quiet, now, little brother. Do you need a gag?”

“Please. Please gag me, Saleh, please.”

Saleh’s fingers slid into his mouth, over his tongue, and Dario finally gave in and let his legs buckle. He slid ungracefully to the floor and let Saleh fuck his head back against the hard wall with a quiet rhythmic tapping.

Saleh’s erection was visible behind the fabric of his trousers. Dario looked at it and imagined it until he could almost feel it stretching him deep inside.

The excess drool oozed from his open mouth, over his chin and down his neck. He lost control of his gag reflex and choked with surprise as Saleh bent and licked the trails from his throat. Felt his desperate cock twitch and seep in Saleh’s iron grip.

“So messy,” Saleh said, somehow managing to sound disapproving while grinning like a hungry wolf. “So inconsiderate.”

Dario felt a  _ frisson _ of arousal so strong that it was nearly terror as Saleh got to his knees. They stared at each other in intense silence for a moment, then quickly, smoothly, Saleh bent and slid Dario’s erection into his mouth.

It was barely a blow-job – Saleh was merely licking, tidying all the pre-cum, right down to where it was dripping off Dario’s balls – but the soft, wet caress was more than enough to fling Dario off the edge into climax.

He leant his heavy head back against the wall and shivered through the aftershocks. When he opened his eyes, Saleh was back on his feet. He looked about ten feet tall from Dario’s crumpled position.

Dario eyed Saleh’s still obvious erection with dazed longing.

Saleh reached down and adjusted himself. “I suppose I’ve got a quick trip to the toilets to deal with now.” He sighed, as if that was a great trial.

Dario made a protesting noise. Saleh bent and smoothed a handkerchief over Dario’s panting mouth, down his throat. Down further, over his raw-feeling cock, making Dario’s eyes water and his jaws slam shut in a wince.

“Don’t get greedy, now, little brother.” He hauled Dario to his feet and pressed him against the wall with his body until Dario’s world stopped spinning and his legs started working again. Then he pressed a chaste kiss to Dario’s forehead. “We’ll have all the time in the world, once you’re family.”


	15. Santi/Wolfe (is this humiliation?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague scenes of vagueness lol. sub Wolfe. Like, literally, I could edit these two chapters and make them more coherent and probably hotter, but on the other hand I could just post.
> 
> Not Sin in the same way as the other entries, but hey this collective can be for kink PWP if i want it to.

“Nic,” Wolfe complained as Nic lifted his cuffed ankles high, let them hang from the dangling connector, and pushed his fingers abruptly inside him.

“Yes, my love?” Nic kissed his collarbone. His fingers pushed and wriggled inside Wolfe.

Being fingered was so different to having Nic’s cock in him. It made him feel vulnerable and used; just lying here with his legs spread, on display.

“Nic,” he said again. It was almost a whine.

His mind wandered, as it always did during this, to strange, hazy fantasies where it wasn’t Nic’s fingers invading him, but someone else. A stranger, who’d just found him lying here naked and taken advantage, in this careless, simple way. Like he wasn’t worth more effort than the gentle movement of a few fingers.

Then his prostate was touched, hard, just right, and he cried out. His body flashed hot and cold in alternation. He tried to push himself forwards, then tried to tighten to bring the fingers further in.

“You love that you hate this,” Nic whispered in his ear. Wolfe turned to try for a kiss, but Nic retreated just enough. “Just a couple of fingers in you, that’s all. That’s all you need.”

“No,” Wolfe whined. There was no escaping that; it was a whine. He felt breathless and prickly all over, swept to the edge by the waves of hot and cold, by those tiny little movements inside him. “I need more.”

He groaned and tried to impale himself further.

“Yes,” Nic continued, his breath hot against Wolfe’s ear. “So needy. You want a cock, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Wolfe shivered convulsively as Nic crooked his fingers. Wrong place. Not his prostate. Just fingers moving inside him, invasive and awkward.

That fed his silly little fantasy; maybe that contact with his prostate hadn’t even been intentional. Completely by accident. Maybe the stranger hadn’t noticed his embarrassing reaction. Maybe they didn’t care.

He shut his eyes and groaned out loud.

“You want a cock inside you, don’t you? Want that burn. That stretch. You want the thud of a good, hard fuck.”

“Yes,” he said. His voice wobbled. He could imagine it so clearly. Being pierced by Nic’s strength, enfolded and covered. So full.

“But instead, you just have this.”

Just this.

Just the squirming sensation inside him, indifferent fingers stirring and twiddling.

His legs pinned and splayed, and chilled without anyone else’s heat pressed against them.

Did the stranger know this? Did the stranger know that he was so needy and well-used that his entrance barely even registered the intrusion of several fingers? Did the stranger know how very, very desperate he was to be pounded ruthlessly into the mattress?

“You’re going to come just like this. Because that’s all you need.”

“No!” His voice broke, and only partly because another press on his prostate had flashed fire through him. “Please!”

The fingers waggled away inside him, driving him shamefully onward.

He was all helpless, quaking motion, his wrists and ankles tugging helplessly at his restraints, his neck stretching for Nic’s calm, far-away face. The fingers had a rhythm now, and a purpose, and his hips moved in time with them.

“Please, Nic! Please fuck me!” The pathetic, needy words made him turn even hotter.

He was going to come, he could tell. From just those stupid little fingers jabbing around.

The usual delicious, irrational terror wrapped claws around his throat: what if Nic never fucked him again, once he proved that this _was_ all he needed to be driven to orgasm?

Unbearable. Everything was unbearable.

“Stop it,” he growled, shame building at last to rage. “Stop it right now, Nic. I don’t like it.”

“Oh?” Something brushed against his cock and he let out a long, sharp guttural sound. “I think you love it, Chris. Maybe not your brain, no. Your big overactive genius brain knows what it wants. It knows what it could have.”

Nic’s hand stroked his lower shaft gently, unsatisfyingly, then his warm palm pressed against Wolfe’s inner thigh.

Wolfe made a high-pitched noise in response that he immediately tried to forget about.

“But your body doesn’t think, Chris. Your body just reacts, just like us lesser mortals. Just like an animal. Your body knows what it _needs_.” Nic bit the shell of his ear, and then those awful fingers dug into his prostate so hard that Wolfe saw stars.

He hung on the edge of orgasm for long, dreadful, wonderful moments, but the precipice swooped by without him and he was left trembling and panting and so very, very desperate.

And the fingers were still. Stiff and pointless inside him. He moaned and thrust his hips helplessly. Suddenly felt the cold path of tears from his eyes to his temples.

“Your body needs to come, doesn’t it?” Nic’s tone was almost soothing.

Wolfe nodded gratefully.

“Tell me.”

Turned out Wolfe still had some pride left. “Oh, fuck you.”

Nic said nothing. Did nothing. And then did it again. And again.

Everything was cold and still around Wolfe and he was a molten, breathless, crying pile of need.

Brain vs body was a pathetically short fight.

“My body needs to come.” The part of him that raged against obedience was very small right now, but it still managed to make him feel that sick twist in his stomach as he repeated Nic's words.

“Well, then. Let me give you what you need, my love.”


	16. Santi/Wolfe pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this straight after the previous chapter? i don't know. pick whatever appeals. 
> 
> TW: Light slut-shaming name-calling.

“Now. Tell me.” Nic’s hand closed over his throat, and Wolfe swallowed against the pressure. “Tell me what dirty little fantasy you cooked up while that was happening.”  
“Nothing. It was nothing.”

“I know you too well for that, my love. Tell me, or I’ll start brainstorming. Pondering what could possibly be too filthy for you to share with me.”

Wolfe let out a shuddering sigh and tugged at his restraints. “Untie me and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Nic’s hot breath washed over the side of his face as Nic chuckled. “Untie you? Why would I do that?” He let go of Wolfe’s throat and walked around to the foot of the bed.

Wolfe hastily raised his head to see. Being able to see Nic but not touch him was even worse than the tantalisation of his hand on Wolfe’s throat. He sank his teeth into his lip to avoid making any noises whatsoever.

“Why would I untie you? You look so appealing like this.” Nic’s gaze was dark and Wolfe swore that it burnt everywhere it tracked. Over the come drying sticky and irritating on his skin, over his suspended legs and his exposed rear.

He was looser than he’d been before Nic fingered him, he could tell. Except that hadn’t been considerate prep. Quite the opposite. That caused a wave of emotion that he couldn’t quite name, and he thudded his head back into the pillow and took several deep breaths to control it.

“All right, Chris?” Wolfe raised his head again and looked at Nic through the tableau of his own spread legs and spent cock. Nic looked concerned.

“Please,” he said hoarsely. Nic’s expression shifted back into its previous smug grin at the reassuring ‘keep going’ word.

“Yes, you look so appealing right now. Trussed up like an animal.” He touched Wolfe’s ankles, and even though Wolfe knew that he was checking for circulation issues, the familiar feel of Nic’s hands still made him groan.

“Touch me.” The words spilled out before he quite knew what was coming, and he slammed his jaws together and pushed his head back against the pillow in irritation with himself.

“Oh, my love.” The fake softness in Nic’s voice was terrible. “You can’t even admit weakness now? When you’re tied down and held open for anyone to see?”

And Nic had hit the fucking nail on the head again, like he always did. There was no way that Wolfe was getting hard again any time soon, but his mind still easily fell back into the fantasy – Nic’s gaze wasn’t the only one on him.

“You can bite your lip all you like. I can see how much you like this. Being exposed. Being on display. Your orgasm should be the end of it, shouldn’t it? But no. You’ve still got all of this _need_.”

Nic’s voice dropped to a bass growl, and it was stupid, it was cliché, it shouldn’t affect Wolfe but it did. He pulled at his restraints so hard that his shoulders throbbed and his hamstrings twinged.

“Fucking touch me already, Nic.” His voice came out reassuringly hard and nasty, the thin layer of ice over the shuddering, melting depths of his psyche. There was a humiliating litany ringing in his ears, full of pleas and promises, and he tasted blood as he bit it back again.

Nic approached and his heart leapt – but no.

Nic reached out and held the bedposts, just below where Wolfe’s ankles were attached.

Wolfe could see Nic’s bulging crotch. He was stood in exactly the right place. All he would need to do was release the strained fabric and just lean forwards a little.

Wolfe could imagine it so clearly. Nic’s delicious length springing free, rubbing up against him as it sought its target.

Not that it would be difficult to locate his loose, unprotected entrance. Nor to pierce it.

He groaned. Hated himself for it. His skin tingled all over, every inch of it. Desperate.

“Well, you’ve said what you want. That’s a start.” Nic grinned.

What I want is to kick you in the face, Wolfe thought, sullen and desperate at the same time.

Then Nic freed his cock and every scrap of focus in Wolfe’s mind hurtled in that direction.

It was genuinely all he could see, his brain hastily pretending it was far closer than it was; the dark, thick length curving in Nic’s loose fist.

Nic pulled his foreskin back and the crown rose, shining and scarlet with Nic’s arousal. Wolfe swore that he could actually feel the heat from it against his delicate, usually-hidden skin.

He wanted that cock with every fibre of his being. Needed it crammed into him so roughly that it hurt, anywhere it would fit, everywhere it would fit.

Now. Immediately.

“Ni-ic.” He almost didn’t care. He was whining and he was so close to not even caring. “Please!”

“See, I don’t even think it’s me,” Nic mused, moving his hand in tiny back and forth motions on his shaft that made moisture well and overflow. “If there was somebody else here, watching you, you’d be begging for them, too, wouldn’t you? Begging for their cock.”

“Please! Please, fuck me!” Wolfe’s breath was ragged. He still wasn’t hard but he felt like he was on the edge of something anyway. Possibly the edge of losing his fucking mind.

“But why should anyone fuck you with their cock, my love, when you’re so easy you’ll come from my fingers?” Nic began to stroke himself in earnest, and the sight wrenched a sob out of Wolfe.

“No, Nic, no, don’t waste it, no, please …” He babbled on for a few moments more, too frantic to stop himself. Every muscle was tensed to the point of pain as he tried to wriggle himself just the inch or two downwards that it would need.

“Don’t worry, my love.” Now the fake soft voice was back. It made the hairs of the back of Wolf’s neck stand up, that voice, so close to Nic’s wonderful soothing tones and yet so horrifically far away from them too. “I understand. You want to feel nice and full.”

The back of his fist brushed Wolfe’s thigh, and Wolfe shouted a formless, shaking vowel into the air.

“I’m sure I’ll find something to fill you up with.” Suddenly he pressed his thumb up against Wolfe’s entrance. There was no resistance; he sank straight in and Wolfe clenched to keep him there. “A dildo. A hairbrush handle. A vegetable from the larder. Would you like that, my love? Are you that desperate? That easy?”

“Yes!” Wolfe wasn’t even sure what he was agreeing to. Everything was a blur. His mouth was watering. His entrance kept relaxing around Nic’s thumb no matter how hard he tried to keep it clenched, like it was begging too, showing itself, spreading wide for Nic.

“Slut.” The word richoted around Wolfe’s mind, pinging off the sides, leaving chill and shame in its wake.

“Yes,” he said, slowly. His skin came out in goosebumps. Everything hung still and crystalline. He tugged at his restraints, wanting to cover himself suddenly.

“Slut,” Nic said again. His eyes very dark and his gaze was intense and very aroused, and Wolfe stared at him even though his neck was aching, feeding off that intense gaze.

Nic wanted him, still. It was acceptable to be a slut, for Nic. To want as much as he did, to be so sloppy and desperate.

“Yes,” he replied again. His voice wavered.

“Good, Chris.” There was so much pleasure in Nic’s voice that Wolfe accepted the praise, let it roll over him in a warm wave. He lay back on the pillow and shut his eyes and let the warmth trickle in. “Good sluts get what they deserve.”

Then Nic pressed into him, hot and steady and relentless and long and thick, and perfect, so perfect, _finally_, and there was no space left inside Wolfe for shame.

Anticipation always heightened his experience, and this had been an intense build-up indeed.

“Thank you,” he babbled, “Thank you, please, please.” He caught his breath, caught at the frayed edges of his self-control. “Fuck, Nic, so good. That’s so good. Thank you.”

He tried to reach for Nic, and the restraints refused to budge. He whined with frustration. “Let me down. Please. I’ll be good, Nic. I’ll be so good. Such an easy fuck for you. Your good slut. Please.”

He listened to the words pouring out of him as if they were coming from somebody else. Somebody wild and desperate and out of control.

Felt fear for a moment; he _was_ out of control.

He wasn’t in control of himself anymore.

It felt so damned good.

Every rhythm of his body had shifted to match and glorify the thud of Nic fucking him, filling him, completing him.

But then his arms and legs were free (how strange they felt, as if they could float in the air all by themselves, muscles twitching uselessly) and Nic was curved over him, tongue plundering his lax, panting mouth, all heat and muscle and weight.

Wolfe raised his shaky arms and tried to pull Nic even closer. Tried to meld the two of them together through sheer force of will.

“All right, Chris?” Nic murmured against his lips.

That was a question, though not phrased as such. A check on Wolfe’s state of mind. There was a word, to reassure Nic. Wolfe couldn’t remember it.

“I love you,” he slurred instead. “Fuck me.”

Nic’s lips stretched in a smile; he could feel it. “I am, my love.” An extra thrust of his hips proved the point.

“Yes.” Wolfe shut his eyes and let himself dissolve under Nic’s weight and force.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Going to Hell in a Handbasket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940074) by [RosalindInPants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants)


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